


companionable

by deiectus



Category: Naruto
Genre: Banter, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-05
Updated: 2014-12-13
Packaged: 2018-02-28 07:29:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2723867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deiectus/pseuds/deiectus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m repairing abysmal amounts of damage. You don’t feel it because I’m very good at what I do, and also, you’re not a medic. You wouldn’t know how to sense it.”</p><p>“Yes,” Kakashi exhaled, sarcasm practically dripping off of his tongue, “a thug ninja like me has no concept of medical jutsu.”</p><p>“Well,” Kabuto murmured with a smile, “I’m sure you have some strong points somewhere.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> just a little warm up, trying to get the writing muscles to work again. set sometime in the timeskip.

It wasn’t entirely right to use one of his father’s old safe houses like this, much less invite an enemy of the village into it. Kakashi knew both of these things. Years and years beyond his father’s passing, he could still feel (or did he just imagine?) traces of Sakumo’s scent, his chakra, here. The dwelling itself smelled faintly of metal, smoke, and just barely of the earthy scent his ninken carried.

But Kakashi, like anyone, had his times where he didn’t want to think about things like right or wrong, village or prison, enemy or comrade. As did Kabuto, perhaps. The medic was currently sitting on the floor of the cabin’s small living room, his back against a chair. Various tools lay on a cloth on the floor in front of him. He was wearing Kakashi’s flak vest, open over his chest, but nothing else.

Kakashi watched him from the bed, where he was also naked, lying on his stomach. Kabuto held a curved kunai in one hand, and was rubbing the blade with a cloth. It stank of oil. Kakashi wrinkled his nose. Kabuto glanced up at him, looking through his bangs. His glasses sat at his side, and his hair was down, parted by his shoulders. Somehow (and Kakashi really didn’t know how Kabuto managed this), Kabuto always looked composed, almost clean, regardless of his current nudity or the bit of matted blood in his hair. Maybe it was a medic thing. Maybe it was nothing on Kabuto’s end at all, but rather Kakashi’s.

Returning to his work, Kabuto swapped out his oiled cloth for a clean one, careful to keep his oil-stained fingertips away from the blade as he wiped it down. He’d sharpened it earlier, in measured, precise strokes, careful to get the degree he wanted.

Obito’s eye throbbed. Kakashi grunted, and rubbed at it with his fingers. Underneath the thin skin of his eyelid, he could practically feel the tomoe wheeling. Was Obito laughing at him? _Shut up_ , Kakashi thought.

“Let me see,” Kabuto said quietly, his eyes still on the knife.

“I don’t want oil on me.” That close to his sensitive nose, and Kakashi would be rubbing at his face for hours.

Kabuto ignored him. “Let me see.” He placed the kunai next to the other tools on the ground, and rolled up the cloth before moving it aside. Kabuto opened one of the pockets on Kakashi’s flak jacket and took out a small, cylindrical container.

“Are you putting things in my jacket?” Kakashi asked, rolling over onto his back and letting his head hang off the side of the bed. He watched Kabuto with one eye, a hand covering Obito’s.

The corner of Kabuto’s mouth quirked. He poured lotion onto his palm of his left hand and used his right to rub it into his skin, his right thumb working in quick circles. Next, he took a clean cloth and dried his hands with it, the mix of oil and lotion coming off easily.

“Sit down there,” Kabuto said, pointing to the floor in front of him. “I’ll be back after I wash my hands.” He stood, still wearing Kakashi’s vest, and walked to the bathroom. A moment later, Kakashi heard the tap running.

Kakashi exhaled. He rolled back onto his stomach and pushed himself up, back into a sitting position on the bed. The window on the other side of the room rattled. Kakashi glanced over at it. The wind was still too strong to leave. At the rate it was blowing, he’d need the sharingan to see a path through the snow. They were both stuck here until the storm passed. Good thing his old man had left the house—and the heating system—fairly well fortified. Smoke from a fireplace was the last thing a safehouse needed.

Kakashi slid off the bed and walked to where Kabuto had been, and kneeled, resting his hands on his thighs. He closed his eyes and let his awareness unfold, seeking out the spaces he felt Sakumo’s presence the strongest. The beams of the ceiling, the doorjamb, underneath his feet… all those and others bore shadows of the White Fang, tightly woven into seals. _Father_.

He drew back, and Kabuto’s chakra suddenly burst into being at the forefront of Kakashi’s consciousness. It had been practically nonexistent before, even when Kakashi was feeling out the home. He was masking himself within a very compact radius. Kakashi opened one eye and watched Kabuto step out of the bathroom. He could relate.

“All clean.” Kabuto held his hands out in front of himself. Not a single scar on either of them, Kakashi noticed, but said nothing.

Kabuto sat down across from Kakashi, his legs crossed. He’d tied his hair back and had pushed his glasses up on top of his head, holding his bangs away from his face.

“Doctor,” Kakashi acknowledged with a nod, his tone dry.

“Just Kabuto,” Kabuto murmured, and took Kakashi’s chin in his left hand, holding him steady. He held his right hand in front of Obito’s eye, palm open but not flat, fingers extended. Kabuto’s eyes narrowed a fraction, and a soft, green glow formed around his right hand.

 _No seals_ , Kakashi thought to himself, and filed the information away, to a part of his mind that had nothing to do with the Kabuto in front of him.

Kabuto was silent, and his grip on Kakashi’s chin was firm. His right hand hovered in front of Obito’s eye, his flexing occasionally. Kakashi could barely feel him rooting around in his head. There was no in-between with Kabuto—it was either constant, probing jabs of chatter, or complete quiet. Much like Kakashi himself, if he bothered to self-analyze.

“Are you so excited to examine the copy ninja and his sharingan?” Kakashi asked.

“I’ve examined you before,” Kabuto replied, his eyes distant. Focused.

“Hm.” Kakashi closed his right eye. “More than once?”

“More than once.”

“Hm.”

Kakashi rested a hand on Kabuto’s hip, then smoothed his palm down his leg, stopping at the middle of his thigh. “I’ve been up your ass, I guess we’re even.”

Kabuto started, coughing out a short, sudden laugh. His hands shook and the glow of chakra around his right hand flickered before stabilizing. He stared at Kakashi, who looked evenly back, his hand traveling back up to grip Kabuto’s side. “Don’t be vulgar,” Kabuto finally said, though Kakashi could see the shadow of a smile on his face. “I’m conducting a procedure.”

“Bullshit.” Kakashi loosened his hold and reopened his eye, both watching and feeling Kabuto’s skin shift under his thumb as he breathed. “You’re just looking around in there.”

The thumb of Kabuto’s left hand moved and the bone of his knuckle pressed against Kakashi’s jaw painfully. “No,” Kabuto replied, tone approaching sternness, “I’m repairing abysmal amounts of damage. You don’t feel it because I’m very good at what I do, and also, you’re not a medic. You wouldn’t know how to sense it.”

“Yes,” Kakashi exhaled, sarcasm practically dripping off of his tongue, “a thug ninja like me has no concept of medical jutsu.”

“Well,” Kabuto murmured with a smile, “I’m sure you have some strong points somewhere.”

He pressed his fingertips against the skin around Obito’s eye, his fingers forming a tight ring. Kakashi’s defenses rose on reflex, the position of Kabuto’s fingers too much resembling a plucking formation for comfort. His body tensed and his nails dug into Kabuto’s side, sure to leave bruises.

Kabuto clicked his tongue. “It’s disgraceful to kill a medic.”

Kakashi opened his mouth, about to think of a reply when he was distracted by the sudden lack of pain in his head. It was as if streams of cool water were flowing from Kabuto’s fingertips into and around Obito’s eye, bathing it in soothing relief. Kabuto drew his hands back and Kakashi relaxed, tipping his head back as the feeling spread.

He breathed slowly, continuing to visualize whatever Kabuto had done as water, spreading down his head and neck before dripping down to the floor. Kakashi’s mind hadn’t felt this clear in months. He felt like he could sleep for a week and wake up with a stamina to rival Gai’s.

When Kakashi opened his right eye again, he saw Kabuto still sitting in front of him, turned to the side. The red marks Kakashi’s hand had left were fading quickly, along with the hint of bruising. And Kabuto wasn’t even using his hands to heal himself, never mind that he apparently didn’t need seals like all the other medics Kakashi had encountered (well, while conscious).

“Where’d you learn that trick,” Kakashi said, voice rough.

Kabuto looked down at himself, then back up at Kakashi. “I’m full of surprises,” he replied, sliding his glasses back onto his face before standing and walking to the window, his back to Kakashi. He drew the flak jacket more tightly around himself as he looked out at the snow. It was too long for him, Kakashi noticed. Why did he always forget how young Kabuto was?

Kakashi lifted a hand to touch his face, fingers going to the sharingan automatically. It lay quiet beneath his fingertips; peaceful, as if sleeping. “Thanks.”

Kabuto slowly shrugged his left shoulder, just once. When he spoke, it was brief, and his tone was flat and unreadable.

“I’m good at it.”


	2. Chapter 2

The snow was not necessarily a problem; it was the wind, and Kabuto knew that he was in no state to travel, storm or no storm. He’d accomplished what he’d needed to on this trip to Frost, but it had taken days of little sleep. He calculated that he’d been awake for nearly thirty hours.

His mouth twisted. Too long. He needed to sleep.

Through the glass of the window, all Kabuto could see was a mass of swirling white.

He touched his fingers to his throat. Kabuto hated winter. Though the weather was more conducive to covering his tracks, it also hid those he needed to trail. The cold air tightened the muscles in his throat, dried out his mouth, and all the lotion in the world never seemed to be enough to keep the skin of his hands healthy and smooth. Dry skin cracked, leading to greater risk of infection, and, well… winter just brought too many annoyances.

One of the winter jobs was the patrolling of Orochimaru’s many bases, a task that had fallen to Kabuto after the last team had been killed by Iwa ninja, and valuable records lost.

These days, Orochimaru’s focus was zeroed in on his precious future host. His tunnel vision with Sasuke left other experiments and test subjects neglected, leaving it up to Kabuto to make sure things were proceeding accordingly. He was the only one Orochimaru trusted to handle the different levels of classified projects.

As time had gone on, however, that trust came to feel less like an honor and more like a burden.

There were other medics in Sound that could tend to Sasuke’s injuries, other soldiers to deal with the corpses from the Uchiha’s training. Kabuto himself was only called in if there was a problem with the seal, and even then, Orochimaru would be breathing down his neck throughout the examination. So Kabuto was certainly busy these days, but he was doing little else but monitoring the operations of Sound’s widespread web.

Checking up on all of the bases, laboratories, and prisons that made up Sound meant extensive travel. Travel meant pockets of time that Kabuto had never had before. It was nice to be off the strictly scheduled rosters, but the hours of in between were awkward, difficult for him to manage. Those hours could be spent more productively than sleeping with a high-level ninja of Konoha, but…

Kabuto looked back over his shoulder at Kakashi. The other man was still seated on the ground, in the same place he’d sat while Kabuto had healed him. Kakashi’s eyes were closed and legs were folded now, hands held together. Moulding chakra to build up his reserves, most likely. Kabuto could feel a faint vibration in the air that tasted of Kakashi’s chakra. He wondered, if he pressed his hand to Kakashi’s chest, if he would feel the spin of energy through his skin. Kakashi kept it tightly leashed, but Kabuto knew well enough that his mastery of chakra control resulted in a devastating power.

And here Kabuto was, low on chakra, with a red spiral target on his back.

He shrugged off the flak vest and let it fall to the floor. If Kabuto was to be trapped by weather, he needed to spend the time resting, not brooding. He’d used up too much of his chakra when he’d repaired the pathways connected to the sharingan. If Kakashi wanted to slit his throat right now, whether Kabuto was awake or asleep would make little difference.

He’d never slept at any of their meetings before, but they’d never been trapped by the weather like this before either. Fretting would only eat up more energy, as would coming up with an alternate way to replenish himself. Sleeping would be dangerous, but it was the most efficient way for Kabuto to even the field between them, should the need arise.

Kabuto walked past Kakashi and took off his glasses, setting them carefully on a small side table. He laid down in the cabin’s bed and untied his hair, pulling the many layers of blankets on top of himself and curling into the sheets. It wasn’t cold in the house—on the contrary, it was quite warm—but something about winter left Kabuto perpetually shivering, especially so in lands like Frost, where the snow never melted.

“Wake me in two hours,” Kabuto said, consciously keeping his voice steady. “Earlier if the wind subsides.”

“Three hours,” he heard Kakashi murmur in reply. “Wind still has at least half a day.”

Kabuto closed his eyes, and, for the few moments before exhaustion pulled him under, wondered if he’d open them again.

 

 

* * *

  

 

He did, but only to see that the sun had set.

The only light in the room was dim, coming from somewhere behind his back. Kabuto closed his eyes again and focused on listening. He could still hear the wind, though it was fainter than before. He exhaled and resigned himself to his situation once again. There was a chance that the wind was dying down, but he’d need to leave the warmth of the bed to confirm that, and he wasn’t ready to do so just yet.

“Time,” Kabuto tried to say, though the words came out more like a croak than speech.

Kakashi’s response wasn’t immediate, and so for a second, Kabuto wondered if Kakashi had left. He thought about how the other would have to make his way through the storm: following ghostly shadows of chakra towards civilization, the strain on the sharingan most likely staining his mask with blood.

“Just after seventeen-hundred,” Kakashi spoke, his voice low and rough from disuse.

The source of Kakashi’s voice was incredibly close. The proximity startled Kabuto, and he flinched, swiftly turning to face the room and pull out the kunai from under his pillow, all in one motion.

Metal met metal almost immediately. The knife was knocked out of his grip, landing somewhere away from the bed.

Kabuto’s vision focused, and he suddenly saw another kunai in front of him, held in a scarred hand. Kakashi’s hand. He followed the kunai’s path with his eyes as Kakashi pulled it back, passing it to his other hand before setting it aside.

“You’re in the bed,” Kabuto said dumbly, his voice thick and slow from sleep. He brushed his hair out of his eyes with his fingers to hide the shaking in his hand, and looked up at Kakashi’s face.

“It’s warmest here,” Kakashi answered. He was watching Kabuto out of the corner of his eye from where he sat against the headboard, one of his novels resting on a knee. “Do you lose your brains when you sleep?”

Kabuto laid back down and stared at the ceiling, blinking away the sleep from his eyes. He thought back to what he knew to try and locate where he was now. They’d crossed paths in early evening, when the storm was threatening to hit, and just made it to the house when the winds had started. It had barely been an hour, maybe two, past dawn when he’d gone to sleep. And now it was seventeen-hundred hours—afternoon. If it was the same day, then how long had he slept? Six hours? What if he’d slept into the next day? He had no way of knowing on his own.

“The winds didn’t stop while you were out,” Kakashi said quietly, his tone approaching something like gentleness. “It’s been seven hours.” _I would have woken you_ , Kabuto heard somehow, somewhere in the layers he had to read. There were always more layers than most people Kabuto had to read through when it came to Kakashi… until times like these, where there were fewer. Now only felt like one layer was present, maybe two at most.

“Why didn’t you wake me after three hours,” Kabuto asked, more a demand than a question. He could figure out the answer, but he was too annoyed. That time was missing and he couldn’t account for it on his own; even if Kakashi had done little else but read while Kabuto was asleep, the lack of confirmed knowledge—lack of _control—_ rattled him. And yet, it’s the kindness, the _understanding_ he hears in Kakashi’s voice that bothers him most. “I said two, you said three, so why did you—”

Kakashi’s sudden hand on Kabuto’s chest was firm. _Calm down_ , the motion said. Kabuto swallowed, fighting the impulse to do exactly the opposite. If Kakashi had spoken the words, talked to him like a child, then Kabuto might’ve lashed out. But since they were unspoken, and since Kakashi wasn’t hurting or restraining him, Kabuto settled back into the sheets.

“You looked like you needed the sleep,” Kakashi finally said, taking his hand away when Kabuto’s breathing had evened.

Kabuto watched Kakashi silently as he dropped his book to the floor and straightened his spine, scooting forward until he was lying on his back. He rolled onto his side, propping his head up with a hand as he looked down at Kabuto. His face was still uncovered. As was the sharingan.

Neither of them had dressed, Kabuto suddenly remembered. They were still naked, save for the blankets. 

Kabuto’s gaze moved to the eye, more out of clinician’s habit than anything else. He’d need to see the entire iris to be sure, but he couldn’t see any new signs of irritation.

Kakashi noticed and shut his left eyelid. “It’s rude to stare.”

“Just checking up,” Kabuto said quickly. His voice cleared as he spoke. “How does it feel? Let me look at your chakra pathways again before you leave.” Kabuto yawned into a hand, tension easing out of his shoulders as he slipped into the ease of the back-and-forth he and Kakashi had with spoken conversation. “I’d like to see the optic nerve, too… look at the possible effects of the transplant on your chiasm…”

“My father didn’t include an operating table in here,” Kakashi said dryly. “You’ll have to wait to dissect my brain.”

“Heating and plumbing in a safe house, though,” Kabuto commented. “Without the invisibility wards, this would be a poor hideaway.”

He left out further remarks on how furnished the place was; there was no way of telling whether Kakashi or his father had been the one to craft such a home here. It was strangely comfortable for a shinobi dwelling. He couldn’t see Kakashi taking care to leave extra sheets and well-oiled boots, toiletries and rations, and all the other things that Kabuto had found in the closet.

He hadn’t even known this place had been Hatake Sakumo’s until Kakashi said so now.

Kakashi reached over and pinched Kabuto’s bicep, breaking the silence. “Be grateful you have a warm place in this storm.”

He let his hand drop to rest on Kabuto’s shoulder. His skin was very warm.

 _Why did you do nothing?_ Kabuto wanted to ask. _You had the perfect chance._

He grew impatient and restless around Kakashi. Most particularly when he was right next to the man, Kabuto had little patience for plucking out details. Put a few feet between them, and a few other people around them, and then Kabuto would have all the calm and ease in the world to watch Kakashi and calculate. But this close, with Kakashi barely inches from him, Kabuto struggled. He needed answers _now_.

And yet, Kabuto knew himself. He could wait. He always had the patience, no matter if he felt like it or not. Years of training had conditioned it into him.

Years of training did not explain to Kabuto, however, why he bent his arm back and placed his hand on top of Kakashi’s. Or why his fingers spread and lingered, finding the rougher patches of skin to rest upon.

“What is the status of the storm?” Kabuto asked quietly, his lips barely moving. He didn’t look at Kakashi’s face. It was too strange to lie next to him like this. Too intimate.

“Good chance a window will open up tonight,” Kakashi replied. His voice was nearly as hushed as Kabuto’s, his words mechanic. A soldier’s report. “Though if it’s anything like the other Frost storms I’ve seen, the window will be small.”

“How soon.” Kabuto hooked his thumb underneath Kakashi’s palm, holding on.

He heard Kakashi swallow, felt his fingers curl tightly around the bone of Kabuto’s shoulder. “Couple hours. Maybe longer.”

Kabuto let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. _Okay_ , he thought.

He moved to get up, gently shrugging Kakashi’s hand off of his shoulder. Kabuto turned his back to Kakashi once more as he sat on the side of the bed, moving his head from side to side and running his fingers through his hair.

“Get some sleep,” Kabuto heard himself say as he stood, stepping away from the bed. Away from Kakashi, and the warmth the sheets held. “I’ll take the watch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> many thanks to the wonderful 100demons <3


End file.
